A 

A  = 

Ai 

0  = 

— ^  1— 

0^ 

0  m 

=^  33 

5  S 

;^^  C} 

om 

O    '^ 

^S^S  1 — 

o  = 

^=^  CD 

^^—  JO 

4  = 

-^_  JO 

31 

= f^ 

8  = 

^^=  o 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


A  t  V. 


GLift'^s  ^^nthusiasms^ 


LIFE'S 
ENTHUSIASMS 

By 
David  Starr  y or  dan 

President  ofLeland  Stanford  Junior  University 


Boston  : 
American  Unitarian  Association 
M  DCCC  cvi 


Copyright,  igo6 
American  Unitarian  Association 


Published,  October,  iqot) 


Printed  by 
The  Heintzemann  Press,  Boston 


To  Melville  Best  Anderson 


THAT  is  poetry  in  which  truth  is  expressed 
in  the  fewest  possible  words ^  in  words 
which  are  inevitable,  in  words  which  could  not 
be  changed  without  weakening  the  meaning  or 
throwing  discord  into  the  melody,  ^o  choose 
the  right  word  and  to  discard  all  others,  this  is 
the  chief  faSior  in  good  writing.  'To  learn  good 
poetry  by  heart  is  to  acquire  help  toward  doing 
thisy  instin^ively  automatically  as  other  habits 
are  acquired.  In  the  affairs  of  life,  then,  is  no 
form  of  good  manners,  no  habit  of  usage  more 
valuable  than  the  habit  of  good  English. 


LIFE'S 
ENTHUSIASMS 

iTffiSJT^  is  the  layman's  privi- 

\  I  k^trt^  ^^S^  ^^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^"^^ 

riAj3r3\his  sermons  wherever 
/ 1  V^M^  he  finds  it.  I  take  mine 
)JLv^£bi}  from  a  French  novel,  a 
cynical  story  of  an  unpleasant  person, 
Samuel  Brohl,  by  Victor  Cherbuliez; 
And  this  is  the  text  and  the  whole  ser- 
mon: 

"  My  son,  we  should  lay  up  a  stock  of 
absurd  enthusiasms  in  our  youth  or  else 
we  shall  reach  the  end  of  our  journey 
with  an  empty  heart,  for  we  lose  a  great 
many  of  them  by  the  way." 


Ct^ife^s  ^TEnthusicisms:) 

And  my  message  in  its  fashion  shall  be 
an  appeal  to  enthusiasm  in  things  oflife, 
a  call  to  do  things  because  we  love  them, 
to  love  things  because  we  do  them,  to 
keep  the  eyes  open,  the  heart  warm  and 
the  pulses  swift,  as  we  move  across  the 
field  oflife.  "  To  take  the  old  world  by 
the  hand  and  frolic  with  it;"  this  is 
Stevenson's  recipe  for  joyousness.  Old 
as  the  world  is,  let  it  be  always  new  to 
us  as  we  are  new  to  it.  Let  it  be  every 
morning  made  afresh  by  Him  who 
"instantly  and  constantly  reneweth  the 
workof  creation."  Let^thebit  of  green 
sod  under  your  feet  be  the  sweetest  to 
you  in  this  world,  in  any  world."  Half 
the  joy  oflife  is  in  little  things  taken  on 


lo 


if €"5  ^^nthusiccsms^ 

the  run.  Let  us  run  if  we  must  —  even 
the  sands  do  that  —  but  let  us  keep  our 
hearts  young  and  our  eyes  open  that 
nothing  worth  our  while  shall  escape 
us.  And  everthing  is  worth  our  while, 
if  we  only  grasp  it  and  its  significance. 
As  we  grow  older  it  becomes  harder  to 
do  this.  A  grown  man  sees  nothing  he 
was  not  ready  to  see  in  his  youth.  So 
long  as  enthusiasm  lasts,  so  long  is  youth 
still  with  us. 

To  make  all  this  more  direct  we  may 
look  to  the  various  sources  from  which 
enthusiasm  may  be  derived.  What  does 
the  school  give  us  in  this  direction  ? 
Intellectual  drill,  broadening  of  mental 
horizon,  professional  training,  all  this 


II 


Gf.ife'^s  cr£ntbusicisms^ 

we  expect  from  school, college,and  uni- 
versity and  in  every  phase  of  this  there 
is  room  for  a  thousand  enthusiasms. 
Moreover, theschool  gives  us  comrade- 
ship, the  outlook  on  the  hopes  and  as- 
pirations of  our  fellows.  It  opens  to  us 
the  resources  of  young  life,  the  lumin- 
ous visions  of  the  boys  that  are  to  be 
men.  We  come  to  know  "the  won- 
derful fellow  to  dream  and  plan,  with 
the  great  thing  always  to  come,  who 
knows  ? "  His  dream  may  be  our  inspi- 
ration as  it  passes,  as  its  realization  may 
be  the  inspiration  of  future  generations. 
In  the  school  is  life  in  the  making,  and 
with  the  rest  we  are  making  our  own 
lives  with  the  richest  materials  ever  at 


12 


Gt^ifc 's  ^^nthusiasms^ 

our  hand.  Life  is  contagious,  and  in  the 
fact  lies  the  meaning  of  Comradeship. 
**  Gemeingeist  unter  freien  Geistern," 
comradery  among  free  spirits:  this  is 
the  definition  of  College  Spirit  given  us 
by  Hutten  at  Greifeswald,  four  centu- 
ries ago.  This  definition  serves  for  us 
today.  Life  is  the  same  in  every  age.  All 
days  are  one  for  all  good  things.  They 
are  all  holy-days ;  to  the  freshman  of  to- 
day, all  joys  of  comradery,  all  delights 
of  free  enthusiasm  are  just  as  open,  just 
as  fresh  as  ever  they  were.  From  the 
teacher  like  influences  should  proceed. 
Ploddingand  prodding  isnotthe  teach- 
er's work.  It  is  inspiration,  on-leading, 
the  flashing  of  enthusiasms.  A  teacher 


13 


GLifc'^s  <rEntbusicisms^ 

in  any  field  should  be  one  who  has  cho- 
sen his  work  because  he  loves  it,  who 
makes  no  repine  because  he  takes  with 
it  the  vow  of  poverty,  who  finds  his  re- 
ward in  the  joy  of  knowing  and  in  the 
joy  of  making  known.  It  requires  the 
master's  touch  to  develop  the  germs  of 
the  naturalist,  the  philosopher,  the  art- 
ist, or  the  poet.  Our  teacher  is  the  man 
who  has  succeeded  along  the  line  in 
which  we  hope  to  succeed,  whose  suc- 
cess is  measured  as  we  hope  to  measure 
our  own.  Each  leader  of  science  and  of 
intellectual  life  is  in  some  degree  the 
discipleof  one  who  has  planned  and  led 
before  him.  There  is  a  heredity  of  in- 
tellect, a  heredity  of  action,  as  subtle 


H 


and  as  real  as  the  heredity  of  the  con- 
tinuous germ-plasm.  Ask  the  teacher 
who  has  helped  mould  your  life,  who 
in  turn  was  his  own  master.  In  a  very 
few  generations  you  trace  back  your 
lineage  to  one  of  the  great  teachers  the 
world  knowsand  loves.  Who  was  your 
teacher  in  Natural  History  in  Amer- 
ica? Was  he  a  pupil  of  Agassiz,  or  was 
he  a  student  of  one  of  Agassiz's  pupils  ? 
Or,  again,  are  there  three  generations 
back  from  you  to  the  grand  master  of 
enthusiasms? 

And  there  are  masters  in  the  art  of  liv- 
ing as  well  as  in  other  arts  and  sciences. 
**  A  log  with  Mark  Hopkins  at  one  end 
and  myself  at  the  other."   That  was 


15 


GLife's  ^TEntbusictsms:) 

Garfield's  conception  of  a  university. 
It  was  said  of  Eliphalet  Nott  at  Union 
College,  that  he  "  took  the  sweepings 
of  other  colleges  and  sent  them  back 
to  society  pure  gold."  The  older  stu- 
dents of  Stanford  will  always  show  the 
traces  of  the  master  teacher  Thoburn. 
"  In  terms  of  life,"  thus  he  construed 
all  problems  of  Science,  of  Philosophy, 
of  Religion.  In  terms  of  life,  Tho- 
burn's  students  will  interpret  all  their 
own  various  problems,  for  in  terms  of 
life  all  things  we  do  must  finally  be  for- 
mulated. Every  observation  we  make, 
every  thought  of  our  minds,  every  act 
of  our  hands  has  in  some  degree  an 
ethical  basis.  It  involves  something  of 


i6 


GLife'^s  c^nthusicisms^ 

right  or  wrong,  and  without  adhesion 
to  right, all  thought,  all  action  must  end 
in  folly.  And  there  is  no  road  to  right- 
eousness so  sure  as  that  which  has  right 
living  as  a  travelling  companion. 

The  very  humanity  of  men  at  large 
is  in  itself  a  source  of  inspiration.  Study 
men  on  the  trains,  at  the  ferry,  on  the 
road,  in  the  jungles  of  the  forest  or  in 
the  jungles  of  great  cities, — "through 
the  ages,  every  human  heart  is  human." 
Look  for  the  best,  and  the  best  shall 
rise  up  always  to  reward  you.  One  who 
has  travelled  among  simple-living  peo- 
ple, men  and  women  we  call  savages, 
because  they  live  in  the  woods  and  not 
in  cleared  land  or  cities,  will  bear  wit- 


17 


Gf^ifc's  ^^ntbusiccsmso 

ness  that  a  savage  may  be  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman. Now  as  I  write  their  faces  rise 
before  me.  Joyous,  free  limbed,  white 
toothed  swimmers  in  Samoan  surf,  a 
Hawaiian  eel-catcher,  a  Mexican  peon 
with  his^sombrero  trailing  in  the  dust," 
a  deferential  Japanese  farm  boy  antic- 
ipating your  every  want,  a  sturdy  Chi- 
naman without  grace  and  without  sen- 
sitiveness, but  with  the  saving  quality 
of  loyalty  to  his  own  word,  herdsmen 
of  the  Pennine  Alps,  Aleuts,  Indians 
and  Negroes,  each  race  has  its  noble- 
men and  through  these  humanity  is 
ennobled.  It  is  worth  while  to  go  far 
from  Boston  to  find  that  such  things 
are  true. 


i8 


GLife's  <rEnthusiccsms^ 

And  we  may  look  not  alone  among 
primitive  folk  who  have  never  envied 
us  our  civilization  or  ever  cared  that 
we  possessed  it.  Badalia  Herodsfoot,  in 
Kipling's  story,  lived  and  died  in  dark- 
est London.  Gentle  hearts  and  pure 
souls  exist  among  our  own  unfortu- 
nates, those  to  whom  our  society  has 
shown  only  its  destroying  side.  All  mis- 
ery and  failure  as  well  as  all  virtue  has 
its  degrees,  and  our  social  scheme  is  still 
far  from  the  demands  of  perfect  justice. 

Some  one  has  said  that  "the  wise 
young  man  will  wear  out  three  dress 
suits  in  a  year."  This  is  a  playful  way 
of  saying  that  he  will  not  shun  men  and 
women,  even  those  bound  by  the  con- 


19 


GLifc'^s  ^^nthusiasmso 

ventions  of  society.  All  such  associa- 
tion can  be  made  to  pay — not  in  money 
—  but  in  getting  the  point  of  view  of 
other  people.  This  is  worth  while 
if  not  costing  too  much  of  time  and 
strength.  There  is  another  maxim 
which  can  offset  the  first.  It  is  from 
Lorimer's  Chicago  pork  packer:  "You 
will  meet  fools  enough  during  the  day 
without  trying  to  roundup  the  main 
herd  of  them  at  night."  But  even  the 
main  herd  of  fools  may  teach  its  les- 
son to  the  student  of  human  nature. 
It  gives  at  least  a  point  of  departure  in 
the  study  of  wisdom.  To  study  men  or 
to  kill  time.  What  is  your  motive?  The 
poorest  use  of  time  is  to  kill  it.  This 


20 


•  < 


is  the  weakest  and  most  cowardly  form 
of  suicide.  Moreover  it  is  never  quite 
successful.  That  "  time  which  crawl- 
cth  like  a  monstrous  snake,  wounded 
and  slow  and  very  venomous"  is  sure 
to  take  its  own  revenges. 

It  is  therefore  good  to  look  on  the 
cheerful  side  of  life.  A  touch  of  humor 
is  necessary  to  the  salvation  of  the  seri- 
ous man.  It  is  a  gift  of  the  men  of 
America  to  see  droll  things  and  to 
express  them  in  droll  fashion.  To 
see  the  funny  side  of  one's  own  accom- 
plishments is  the  highest  achievement 
of  the  American  philosopher  and  there 
is  hope  for  the  land  in  which  the  great- 
est wits  have  been  the  most  earnest  of 


21 


Ct^ifc'^s  (^nthusidsms^ 

moral  teachers.  Who  was  more  earn- 
est than  OHver  Wendell  Holmes,  who 
moregenuine  than  MarkTwain?  With- 
out the  saving  graceof  humor  our  Puri- 
tan conscience  which  we  all  possess 
would  lead  us  again  into  all  extrava- 
gance, witch-burnings,  Quaker-ston- 
ing, heresy  trials,  and  intolerance  of 
politics  and  religion.  From  all  these 
we  are  saved  by  our  feeling  for  the 
incongruous.  A  touch  of  humor  re- 
calls us  to  our  senses.  It  "  makes  the 
whole  world  kin." 

In  the  love  of  nature  is  another  source 
of  saving  grace.  Science  is  power.  In 
the  stores  of  human  experience  lies  the 
key  to  action,  and  modern  civilization 


22 


GLife'^s  (Enthusiasms^ 

is  built  on  Science.  The  love  of  nature 
is  akin  to  Science  but  different.  Con- 
tact with  outdoor  things  is  direct  ex- 
perience. It  is  not  stored,  not  co-ordi- 
nated, not  always  convertible  into  pow- 
er, but  real,  nevertheless,  and  our  own. 
The  song  of  birds,  the  swarming  of 
bees,  the  meadow  carpeted  with  flow- 
ers, the  first  pink  harbingers  of  the  early 
spring,  the  rush  of  the  waterfall,  the 
pilingup  of  therocks,  the  trail  through 
the  forest,  the  sweep  of  the  surf,  the 
darting  of  the  fishes,  the  drifting  of  the 
snow,  the  white  crystals  of  the  frost, 
the  shrieking  of  the  ice,  the  boom  of 
the  bittern,  the  barking  of  thesea  lions, 
the  honk  of  the  wild  geese,  the  skulk- 


23 


GLlfe'^s  <^nthusiasms^ 

ing  coyote  who  knows  that  each  beast 
is  his  enemy  and  has  not  even  a  flea  to 
help  him  ** forget  that  he  is  a  dog,"  the 
leap  of  the  salmon,  the  ecstacy  of  the 
mocking-bird  and  bobolink,  the  nest- 
ing of  the  field-mice,  the  chatter  of 
the  squirrel,  the  gray  lichen  of  the 
oak,  the  green  moss  on  the  log,  the 
poppies  of  the  field  and  the  Mariposa 
lilies  of  the  cliff — all  these  and  ten 
thousand  more  pictures  which  could 
be  called  up  equally  at  random  and  from 
every  foot  of  land  on  the  globe  —  all 
these  are  objects  of  nature.  All  these 
represent  a  point  of  human  contact  and 
the  reaction  which  makesfor  youth,for 
virtue  and  for  enthusiasm. 


24 


To  travel  is  merely  to  increase  the 
variety  of  contact  by  giving  our  time 
to  it,  and  by  extending  the  number  of 
points  at  which  contact  is  possible.  It 
may  be  that  "  he  who  wanders  widest, 
lifts  no  more  of  beauty's  jealous  veils 
than  he  who  from  his  doorway  sees  the 
miracle  of  flowers  and  trees."  It  is  true, 
however,  that  the  experiences  of  the 
traveller  cover  a  wider  range  and  fill 
his  mind  with  a  larger  and  more  varied 
store  of  remembered  delights.  The  very 
names  of  beloved  regions  call  up  each 
one  its  own  picture.  The  South  Seas ; 
to  have  wandered  among  their  green 
isles  is  to  have  seen  a  new  world,  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth.  The  white 


25 


reef  with  its  whiter  rim  of  plunging 
surf,  the  swaying  pahiis,  the  flashing 
waterfall,  the  joyous  people,  straight 
as  Greeks  and  colored  like  varnished 
leather,  the  bread-fruit  tree  and  the 
brown  orange,  the  purple  splendor  of 
the  vine  called  Bougainvillia,  and 
above  all  the  volcanic  mountains,green 
fringed  with  huge  trees,  with  tree  ferns 
and  palms,  the  whole  tied  together  in- 
to an  impenetrable  jungle  by  the  long 
armed  lianas. TheSierraNevada,sweep- 
ing  in  majestic  waves  of  stone,  alive 
with  color  and  steeped  in  sunshine. 
Switzerland,  Norway,  Alaska,  Tyrol, 
Japan,  Venice,  the  Windward  Islands 
and  the  Gray  Azores,  Chapultepec  with 


26 


GLife'^s  ^TEnthusiasms^ 

its  dream  of  white-cloaked  volcanoes, 
Enoshima  and  Gotemba  with  their 
peerless  Fujiyama,  Nikko  with  its  tem- 
ples. Loch  Lomond,  Lake  Tahoe, 
Windermere,  Tintagel  by  the  Cornish 
Sea,  the  Yellowstone  and  the  Canon 
of  the  Colorado,  the  Crater  Lake  of 
Oregon,  Sorrento  with  its  Vesuvius, 
Honolulu  with  its  Pali,  the  Yosemite, 
Banff  with  its  Selkirks,  Prince  Fred- 
erick's Sound  with  its  green  fjords,  the 
Chamounix  with  its  Mont  Blanc,  Bern 
with  its  Oberland,  Zermatt  with  its 
Matterhorn,  Simla  with  "the  great 
silent  wonder  of  the  snows." 

"Even  now  as  I  write,"  says  Why  mper 
the  master  mountain  climber,  "  they 


27 


GLifc's  ^TEnthusiccsms^ 

rise  before  me  an  endless  series  of  pic- 
tures magnificent  in  effect,  in  form  and 
color.  I  see  great  peaks  with  clouded 
tops,  seeming  to  mount  upward  for 
ever  and  ever.  I  hear  the  music  of  dis- 
tant herds,  the  peasant's  yodel  and  the 
solemn  church  bells.  And  after  these 
have  passed  away,  another  train  of 
thought  succeeds,  of  those  who  have 
been  brave  and  true,  of  kind  hearts  and 
bold  deeds,  of  courtesies  received  from 
strangers'  hands,  trifles  in  themselves 
but  expressive  of  that  good-will  which 
is  the  essence  of  charity." 

That  poetry  was  a  means  of  grace  was 
known  to  the  first  man  who  wrote  a 
verse  or  who  sang  a  ballad.   It  was  dis- 


28 


GLift'^s  ^Enthusiasms:) 

covered  back  in  the  darkness  before 
men  invented  words  or  devised  letters. 
The  only  poetry  you  w^ill  ever  know  is 
that  you  learned  by  heart  when  you 
were  young.  Happy  is  he  who  has 
learned  much,  and  much  of  that  which 
is  good.  Bad  poetry  is  not  poetry  at  all 
except  to  the  man  who  makes  it.  For 
its  creator,  even  the  feeblest  verse  speaks 
something  of  inspiration  and  of  aspira- 
tion. It  is  said  that  Frederick  the  Great 
went  into  battle  with  a  vial  of  poison  in 
one  pocket  and  a  quire  of  bad  verse  in 
the  other.  Whatever  we  think  of  the 
one,  we  feel  more  kindly  toward  him 
for  the  other. 
Charles  Eliot  Norton  advises  every 


29 


Gt^lfe^s  ^Enthusiasms:) 

man  to  read  a  bit  of  poetry  every  day 
for  spiritual  refreshment.  It  would  be 
well  for  each  of  us  if  we  should  follow 
this  advice.  It  is  not  too  late  yet  and 
if  some  few  would  heed  his  words  and 
mine,  these  pages  would  not  be  writ- 
ten in  vain. 

I  heard  once  of  a  man  banished  from 
New  England  to  the  Llano  Estacado, 
the  great  summer-bitten  plains  of 
Texas.  While  riding  alone  among  his 
cows  over  miles  of  yucca  and  sage  he 
kept  in  touch  with  the  world  through 
the  poetry  he  recited  to  himself.  His 
favorite,  I  remember,  was  Whittier's 
"  Randolph  of  Roanoke  :  '* 


30 


GLife''s  (Enthusiasms^ 

*'  Here  where  with  living  ear  and  eye 
He  heard  Potomac  Jlowifig, 
And  through  his  tall  ancestral  trees 
Saw  Autumn  s  sunset  glowing; 

**  Too  honest  or  too  proud  to  feign 
A  love  he  never  cherished. 
Beyond  Virginia's  border  line 
His  patriotism  perished. 

**But  none  heheld  with  clearer  eye 
The  plague  spot  o  er  her  spreading. 
Nor  heard  more  sure  the  steps  of  doom 
Along  her  future  treading  ^ 

This  is  good  verse  and  it  may  well 
serve  to  relate  thegray  world  of  North- 
ern Texas  to  the  many-colored  world 
in  which  men  struggle  and  die  for 


31 


GLife^s  ^^ntbusictsms^ 

things  worth  while,  winning  their  lives 
eternally  through  losing  them. 

Here  are  some  other  bits  of  verse 
which  on  the  sea  and  on  the  lands,  in 
the  deserts  or  in  the  jungles  have  served 
the  same  purpose  for  other  men,  per- 
haps indeed  for  you. 

"//  has  been  prophesied  these  many  years 

I  should  not  die  save  in  'Jerusalem, 

Which  vainly  I  supposed  the  Holy  Land. 

But  bear  me  to  that  chamber ^  there  Til 
lie. 

In  this  Jerusalem  shall  Hardy  die.*' 

**And  gentle7nen  of  Rngland  now  abed 

Shall  think  themselves  accursed  they 
were  not  here. 


32 


And  hold  their  manhood  cheap  while  any 

speaks 
Who  fought  with  us  upon  St.  Crispin  s 

day." 

^*  Let  me  come  in  where  you  sit  weepings 

aye: 
Let  me  who  have  not  any  child  to  die 
Weep  with  you  for  the  little  one  whose 

love 
I  have  known  nothing  of 
The  little  arms  that  slowly ^  slowly  loosed 
Their  pressure  round  your  necky   the 

hands  you  used 
To  kiss.  Such  armSy  such  hands  I  never 

knew. 
May  I  not  weep  with  you  F 


33 


Fain  ivould  I  be  of  service  ^say  something 
Between  the  tears,  that  would  be  com- 
forting. 
But  ah  !  So  sadder  than  yourselves  am  I 
Who  have  no  child  to  die.'* 

"  Tour  picture  smiles  as  once  it  smiled; 
The  ring  you  gave  is  still  the  same ; 
Tour  letter  tells,  O  changing  child. 
No  tidings  since  it  came ! 
Give  me  some  amulet 
That  marks  intelligence  with  you. 
Red  when  you  love  and  rosier  red. 
And  when  you  love  not,  pale  and  blue, 
Alas  that  neither  bonds  nor  vows 
Can  certify  possession. 


34 


Torments  me  still  the  fear  that  Love 
Died  in  his  last  expression.'* 

"  He  walks  with  God  upon  the  hills 
And  sees  each  inorn  the  world  arise 
New  bathed  in  light  of  Paradise. 
He  hears  the  laughter  of  her  rills ; 
She  to  his  spirit  undefled 
Makes  answer  as  a  little  child; 
Unveiled  before  his  eyes  she  stands 
And  gives  her  secrets  to  his  hands.'* 

^^  Above  the  pines  the  moon  was  slowly 
drifting. 
The  river  sang  below. 
The  dim  Sierras  far  beyond  uplifting 


35 


Their  j?iinarets  of  snow. 

The  roaring  caijipjire  with  good  humor 

painted 
The  ruddy  tifits  of  health 
On  haggard  face  and  form  that  drooped 

and  fainted 
In  the  fierce  race  for  wealth. 
Till  07ie  arose  and  fro  fn  his  pack's  scant 

treasure 
The  hoarded  volume  drew. 
And  cards  were  d?'Opped  from  hands  of 

listless  leisure 
To  hear  the  tale  anew. 
And  as  around  them  shadows  gathered 

faster 
And  as  the  firelight  fell. 
He  read  aloud  the  book  wherein  the  Master 


36 


CLife'^s  (Enthusiasms^ 

Had  writ  of  Little  Nell, 

Perhaps  'twas  boyish fancy^  for  the  reader 

Was  youngest  of  thetii  all, 

Tet,  as  he  read,fro?n  clustering  pine  and 
cedar 

A  silence  seemed  to  fall. 

The  fir  trees  gathering  closer  in  the  shad- 
ows 

Listened  in  every  spray. 

While  the  whole  camp  with  little  Nell,  on 
English  meadows, 

Wandered  and  lost  their  way. 

Lost  is  that  camp  and  wasted  all  its  fire. 

And  he  who  wrdt  that  spell; 

Ah,  towering  pine  and  stately  Kentish 
spire, 

Te  have  one  tale  to  tell. 


37 


Lost  is  that  ca7npy  but  let  its  fragrant 

story 
Blend  with  the  breath  that  thrills 
With  hop  vines'  incense  all  the  pensive 

glory 
That  Jills  the  Kentish  hills. 
And  on  that  grave  where  English  oak 

and  holly 
And  laurel  wreath  entwine. 
Deem  it  not  all  a  too  presumptuous  folly , 
This  spray  of  Western  pine  J* 

*^Dark  browed  she  broods  with  weary  lids 
Beside  her  Sphy?ix  and  Pyramids, 
With  her  low,  never  lifted  eyes. 
If  she  be  dead,  respect  the  dead; 


38 


If  she  be  weeping,  let  her  weep ; 
If  she  be  sleeping,  let  her  sleep ; 
For  lo,  this  woman  named  the  stars. 
She  suckled  at  her  tawny  dugs 
Tour  Moses,  while  ye  reeked  with  wars 
And  prowled  the  woods,  rude,  painted 

thugs  y 

^''The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies; 
The  captains  and  the  kings  depart ; 
Still  stands  thine  ancient  safrifice, 
The  humble  and  the  contrite  hearth 

'■^Careless  seems  the  Great  Avenger, 
History' s  pages  but  record 


39 


GLifc's  c^nthusiccsmso 

One  death  grapple  in  the  darkness 

Twixt  old  systems  and  the  word. 
Truth  forever  on  the  scaffold^ 

Wrong  forever  on  the  throne ; 
But  that  scaffold  sways  the  future y 

And  behind  the  di?7i  Unknown 
Standeth  God  within  the  shadow^ 

Keeping  watch  above  his  ownJ" 

"  Pledge  me  rounds  I  bid  you  declare. 
All  good  fellows  whose  beards  are  gray. 
Did  not  the  fairest  of  the  fair 
Co??ifnon  grow  and  wearisome,  ere 
Ever  a  month  had  passed  away  ? 
The  reddest  lips  that  ever  have  kissed. 
The  brightest  eyes  that  ever  have  shone 
May  pray  and  whisper  and  we  not  list 


40 


Or  look  away  and  never  be  fnissed 
Ere  yet  ever  a  month  is  gone. 
Gillian  s  dead.    God  rest  her  bier  I 
How  I  loved  her  twenty  years  syne  ! 
Marian's  married  and  I  sit  here 
Alone  and  fnerry  at  forty  year. 
Dipping  my  nose  in  the  Gascon  wine," 

Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky 
Dig  my  grave  and  let  me  lie. 
Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die 
And  I  lay  ine  down  with  a  will. 
This  be  the  verse  ye  grave  for  me: 
'Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  be. 
Hofne  is  the  sailor,  home  from  the  sea. 
And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill.*  *' 


41 


<< 


GjLife's  ^^ntbusiasmsT) 


it 


By  the  brand  upon  77iy  shoulders , 
By  the  lash  of  clinging  steely 
By  the  welts  the  whips  have  left  me. 
By  the  wounds  that  never  heal. 
By  the  eyes  grown  di?n  with  staring 
At  the  sufi-wash  on  the  brine, 
I  am  paid  in  full  for  service, — 
Would  that  service  still  were  mine,'' 


And  with  these  the  more  familiar 
verses  beginning: 

*^  Break,  break,  break. 
At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea.'' 

Bells  of  the  past  whose  longforgotten 


i< 


music." 


n 


fust  for  a  handful  of  silver  he  left  us." 


42 


GLifc'^s  ^Enthusiasms:) 

** Beautiful  Evelyn  Hope  is  dead." 

"  O  to  be  in  England^  now  that  ApriPs 
there." 

"  The  mists  are  on  the  Oberland, 

The  yungfraus  snows  look  faint  and 
far." 

"  The  word  of  the  Lord  by  night 
To  the  watclwtg  pilgrims  came." 

"  Feary  a  forgotten  fonn  ; 
Death,  a  dream  of  the  eyes ; 
We  were  atoms  in  God's  great  storm 
That  raged  through  the  angry  skies  I" 

And  with  this  you  may  take  many 
other  bits  of  verse  which  were  ham- 
mered out  on  the  anvil  of  the  terrible 
Civil  War. 


43 


GLif€''s  ^Enthusiasms:) 

Perhaps  these  bits  of  verse  chosen  al- 
ahnost  at  random  will  not  appeal  to 
your  taste.  Then  find  some  other  verse 
that  does.  The  range  of  literature  is 
as  wide  as  humanity.  It  touches  every 
feeling,  every  hope,  every  craving  of 
the  human  heart.  Select  what  you  can 
understand  —  best,  what  you  can  rise 
on  tiptoe  to  understand.  "  It  was  my 
duty  to  have  loved  the  highest."  It 
is  your  duty  toward  poetry  to  take  the 
highest  you  can  reach.  Then  learn 
it  by  heart.  Learn  it  when  you  are 
young.  It  will  give  you  a  fresh  well 
of  thoughts.  It  will  form  your  style 
as  a  writer.  That  is  poetry  in  which 
truth  is  expressed  in  the  fewest  pos- 


44 


GLift'^s  ^^ntbusicLsmrp 

sible  words,  in  words  which  are  in- 
evitable, in  words  which  could  not 
be  changed  without  weakening  the 
meaning  or  throwing  discord  into  the 
melody.  To  choose  the  right  word  and 
to  discard  all  others,  this  is  the  chief 
factor  in  good  writing.  To  learn  good 
poetry  by  heart  is  to  acquire  help  to- 
ward doing  this  instinctively,  auto- 
matically, as  other  habits  are  acquired. 
In  the  affairs  of  life  there  is  no  form  of 
good  manners,  no  habit  of  usage  more 
valuable  than  the  habit  of  good  Eng- 
lish. And  to  this  end  the  masters  of 
English,  from  Chaucer  to  Tennyson, 
and  in  spite  of  perversities,  we  may  add 
Emerson,  Browning, and  Kipling,  have 


45 


written  English  verse.  It  is  not  in  verse 
alone  that  poetry  is  written.  Sweetness 
and  light  and  truth  can  be  crystallized 
into  prose,  and  prose  well  worthy  to  be 
borne  in  memory. 

Take  this  from  Emerson: 

"Thepoet  is thetrue  landlord, sea  lord, 
air  lord !  Wherever  snow  falls  or  water 
flows  or  birds  fly,  wherever  day  and 
night  meet  in  twilight,  wherever  the 
blue  heaven  is  hung  by  clouds  or  sown 
with  stars,  wherever  are  forms  with 
transparent  boundaries,  wherever  are 
outlets  into  celestial  spaces,  wherever  is 
danger  and  awe  and  love —  there's  Beau- 
ty, plenteous  as  rain  shed  for  thee  and 
though  thou  shouldst  walk  the  world 


46 


GUife's  <^nthusiasTnrD 

over  thou  shalt  not  be  able  to  find  a  con- 
dition inopportune  or  ignoble." 

"I  took  a  walk  the  other  day,"  so 
Thoreau  tells  us,  **on  Spaulding's  farm. 
I  saw  the  setting  sun  lighting  up  the 
opposite  side  of  a  stately  pine  wood. 
Its  golden  rays  straggled  into  the  aisles 
of  the  wood  as  into  some  noble  hall.  I 
was  impressed  as  if  some  ancient  and 
altogether  admirable  family  had  set- 
tled there  in  that  part  of  Concord,  un- 
known to  me — to  whom  the  sun  was 
servant.  I  saw  their  path,  their  pleas- 
uring ground  through  the  woods  in 
Spaulding's  cranberry  meadow.  The 
pines  furnished  them  with  gables  as 
they  grew.   Their  house  was  not  obvi- 


47 


CLife^s  ^^nthusiasms-D 

ous  to  vision,  the  trees  grew  through 
it.  They  have  sons  and  daughters.  They 
are  quite  well.  The  farmer's  cart  path 
which  leads  directly  through  their  hall 
does  not  in  the  least  put  them  out,  as 
the  muddy  bottom  of  the  pool  is  some- 
times seen  through  the  reflected  skies. 
They  never  heard  of  Spaulding,  and  do 
notknowthat  he  is  their  neighbor,  not- 
withstanding I  heard  him  whistle  as  he 
drove  his  team  through  their  house. 
Nothing  can  equal  the  serenity  of  their 
lives.  Their  coat  of  arms  is  simply  a 
lichen.  It  is  painted  on  the  pines  and 
the  oaks.  Theyareof  no  politics.  There 
was  no  noise  of  labor.  I  did  not  per- 
ceive that  they  were  weaving  or  spin- 


48 


Gt.ife'^s  (Enthusiasms^ 

ning.  Yet  I  did  detect,  when  the  wind 
lulled  and  hearing  was  done  away,  the 
finest  imaginable  sweet  musical  hum 
as  of  a  distant  hive  in  May,  which  per- 
chance was  the  sound  of  their  think- 
ing. They  had  no  idle  thoughts  and  no 
one  without  could  say  their  work,  for 
their  industry  was  not  in  knots  and  ex- 
crescences embayed.  Yet  I  find  it  dif- 
ficult to  remember  them.  They  fade 
irrevocably  even  while  I  speak.  It  is 
only  after  a  long  and  serious  effort  to 
recollect  that  I  became  again  aware  of 
their  cohabitance.  If  it  were  not  for 
such  families  as  this  I  think  I  should 
move  out  of  Concord." 
In  the  arts  of  music  and  painting  and 


49 


Ct.ifc'^s  ^nEnthusiasms^ 

sculpture,  one  may  find  not  only  pro- 
fessional satisfaction,  but  the  strength 
that  comes  from  higher  livingand  more 
lofty  feeling.  In  the  study  of  history 
as  biography,  the  acquaintancewith  the 
men  and  women  of  other  times,  those 
who  have  felt  and  thought  and  acted 
and  suffered  to  make  a  freer  world  for 
you  and  me,  like  inspiration  may  be 
found.  History  is  more  than  its  inci- 
dents. It  is  the  movement  of  man.  It 
is  the  movement  of  individual  men,  and 
it  is  in  giving  illumination  to  personal 
and  racial  characters  that  the  succes- 
sion of  incidents  has  its  value.  The 
picturesque  individual,  the  man  who 
could  not  be  counted  with  the  mass. 


50 


GLift's  (Enthusiasms^ 

the  David,  the  Christ,  the  Brutus,  the 
Caesar,  the  Plato,  the  Alfred,  the  Charle- 
magne, the  Cromwell,  the  Mirabeau, 
the  Luther,  the  Darwin,  the  Helm- 
holtz,  the  Goethe,  the  Franklin,  the 
Hampden,  the  Lincoln,  all  these  give 
inspiration  to  history.    It  is  well  that 
we  should  know  them,  should  know 
them  all,  should  know  them  well  — 
an  education  is  incomplete  that  is  not 
built  about  a  Pantheon,  dedicated  to 
the  worship  of  great  men. 
With  all  this  comes  that  feeling  of  ded- 
ication to  the  highest  purposes  which 
is  the  essential  feature  of  religion.   Re- 
ligion should  be  known  by  its  tolerance, 
its  broadmindedness,  its  faith  in  God 


51 


GLife'^s  ^TEnthusiccsmso 

and  humanity,  its  recognition  of  the 
duty  of  action. 

And  action  should  be  understood  in 
a  large  way,  the  taking  of  one's  part 
in  affairs  worth  doing,  not  mere  activ- 
ity, nor  fussiness,  nor  movement  for 
movement's  sake,  like  that  of"  ants  on 
whompepperissprinkled."  As  the  les- 
ser enthusiasms  fade  and  fail,  oneshould 
take  a  stronger  hold  on  the  higher  ones. 
*' Grizzling  hair  the  brain  doth  clear" 
and  one  sees  in  better  perspective  the 
things  that  need  doing.  It  is  thus  pos- 
sible to  grow  old  as  a  "  grand  old  man,' ' 
a  phrase  invented  for  Gladstone,  but 
which  fits  just  as  well  our  own  Mark 
Twain.   Grand  old  men  are  those  who 


52 


GLife''s  ^TEnthusiasmso 

have  been  grand  young  men,  and  carry- 
still  a  young  heart  beneath  old  shoul- 
ders. There  are  plenty  of  such  in  our 
country  to-day,  though  the  average 
man  begins  to  give  up  the  struggle  for 
thehigherlifeatforty.  PresidentWhite, 
PresidentEliot,  President  Angell,— few 
men  have  left  so  deep  an  impression 
on  the  Twentieth  Century.  Edward 
Everett  Hale,  the  teacher  who  has 
shown  us  what  it  is  to  have  a  country. 
Senator  Hoar,  Professor  Agassiz,  Pro- 
fessor Le  Conte,  Professor  Shaler, — all 
these,  whatever  the  weight  of  years,  re- 
mained young  men  to  the  last.  When 
Agassiz  died,  the Harvardstudents"laid 
a  wreath  of  laurel  on  his  bier  and  their 


53 


GLife'^s  ^^nthusiasms^ 

manly  voices  sang  a  requiem,  for  he 
had  been  a  student  all  his  life  long,  and 
when  he  died  he  was  younger  than  any 
of  them."  Jefferson  was  in  the  seven- 
ties when  he  turned  back  to  his  early 
ambition,  the  foundation  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia.  The  mother  of 
Stanford  University  was  older  than  Jef- 
ferson before  she  laid  down  the  great 
work  of  her  life  as  completed.  When 
the  heart  is  full,  it  shows  itself  in  action 
as  well  as  in  speech.  When  the  heart 
is  empty,  then  life  is  no  longer  worth 
while.  The  days  pass  and  there  is  no 
pleasure  in  them.  Let  us  then  fill  our 
souls  with  noble  ideals  of  knowledge, 
of  art,  of  action.  "Let  us  lay  up  a  stock 


54 


CLife'^s  CTEnthusiasms:) 

of  enthusiasms  in  our  youth,  lest  we 
reach  the  end  of  our  journey  with  an 
empty  heart,  for  we  lose  many  of  them 
by  the  way." 

We  hear  much  in  these  days  of  the 
wickedness  of  power,  of  the  evil  be- 
havior of  men  in  high  places,  of  men 
in  low  places,  and  men  whom  the  peo- 
ple have  been  perforce  obliged  to  trust. 
This  is  no  new  thing,  though  the  strug- 
gle against  it,  the  combination  of  the 
forces  of  reform  and  blackmail,  of 
dreamers  and  highwaymen,  is  offering 
some  new  phases. 

There  is  a  kind  of  music  popular  with 
uncritical  audiences  and  with  people 
who  know  no  better,  which  answers  to 


55 


GLlfc'^s  ^Enthusiasms:) 

the  name  of  "ragtime."  It  is  the  music 
of  those  who  do  not  know  good  music 
or  who  have  not  the  moral  force  to  de- 
mand it.  The  spirit  of  ragtime  is  not 
confined  to  music:  graft  is  the  ragtime 
of  business,  the  spoils  system  the  rag- 
time of  politics,  adulteration  the  rag- 
time of  manufacture.  There  is  ragtime 
science,  ragtime  literature,  ragtime  re- 
ligion. You  will  know  each  of  these  by 
its  quick  returns.  The  spirit  of  ragtime 
determines  the  six  best  sellers,  the  most 
popular  policeman,  the  favorite  con- 
gressman, the  wealthiest  corporation, 
the  church  which  soonest  rents  its 
pews. 
But  it  does  not  control  the  man  who 


S6 


GLifc's  (^nthusicismrD 

thinks  for  himself.  It  has  no  lien  on 
the  movements  of  history,  its  decrees 
avail  nothing  in  the  fixing  of  truth. 
The  movements  of  the  stars  pay  it  no 
tribute,  neither  do  the  movements  of 
humanity.  The  power  of  graft  isa  tran- 
sient deception.  Emerson's  parable  of 
the  illusions  gives  the  clue  to  our  time, 
to  all  time,  in  its  contrast  of  the  things 
which  appear  with  the  things  that 
abide. 

"There  is  no  chance  and  no  anarchy  in 
theUniverse,"  says  Emerson,  "all  is  sys- 
tem and  gradation.  Every  god  is  there 
sitting  in  his  sphere.  The  young  mortal 
enters  the  hall  of  the  firmament;  there 
he  is  alone  with  them  alone,  they  pro- 


57 


nouncingon  him  benedictions  and  gifts, 
and  beckoning  him  up  to  their  thrones. 
On  the  instant  and  incessantly  fall  snow 
storms  of  illusions.  He  fancies  himself 
in  a  vast  crowd  which  sways  this  way 
and  that  and  whose  movements  and  do- 
ings he  must  obey.  He  fancies  himself 
poor,  orphaned,  insignificant.  The  mad 
crowd  drives  hither  and  thither,  now 
furiously  commanding  this  thing  to  be 
done,  now  that.  What  is  he  that  he 
should  resist  their  will  and  think  and 
act  for  himself?  Every  moment  new 
changes  and  new  showers  of  deceptions 
to  baffle  and  distract  him.  And  when, 
by  and  by,  for  an  instant  the  air  clears 
and  the  cloud  lifts  a  little,  there  are 


58 


the  gods  still  sitting  around  him  on 
their  thrones  —  they  alone  with  him 
alone." 


THE  last  paragraphs  of  this  little 
essay  were  written  within  a  huge 
hotel  of  steel  and  stone  in  the  heart 
of  a  bustling  city,  in  the  most  gracious 
of  lands  and  under  the  bluest  of  skies. 
A  great  commercial  city  it  was,  a 
wondrous  city,  full  of  all  manner  of 
men  —  eager,  impulsive,  loving,  en- 
thusiastic men;  men  cunning  and 
grasping,  given  over  to  all  "high, 
hard  lust  and  wilful  deed ; "  care- 
free, joyous  men  living  in  the  pres- 


59 


GLifc's  <^ntbusiccsmsD 

ent  and  taking  their  chances  for  the 
future ;  men  who  have  whistled  all 
the  airs  that  fluttering  birds  and  frol- 
icking children  have  learned  to  sing; 
workmen  of  all  grades,  quiet,  courage- 
ous and  self-respecting,  and  weak,  dis- 
gruntled and  incapable;  bright-eyed, 
clear-headed,  sagacious  men,  such  men 
as  build  a  state ;  hopeless,  broken,  dis- 
appointed men,  who  have  made  this 
city  of  hope  their  last  resort;  gamblers, 
parasites,  bartenders,  agitators,  self- 
seekers,  haters  of  men  and  haters  of 
organization,  impossibles,  men  uncon- 
trolled and  uncontrollable,  of  every  na- 
tion and  with  every  dialect  of  the  civil- 
ized world — and  of  uncivilized  worlds 


60 


GLifc'^s  ^^nthusiasms^ 

also; — the  most  cosmopolitan  of  all 
American  towns,  the  one  fullest  of  the 
joy  of  living,  the  one  least  fearful  of 
future  disaster,  ** serene,  indifferent  to 
fate,"  thus  her  own  poets  have  styled 
her,  and  on  no  other  city  since  the 
world  began  has  fate,  unmalicious,  me- 
chanical and  elemental,  wrought  such 
a  terrible  havoc.  In  a  day  this  city 
has  vanished;  the  shock  of  a  mighty 
earthquake  forgotten  in  an  hour  in  the 
hopeless  horror  of  fire;  homes,  hotels, 
hospitals,  hovels,  libraries,  museums, 
skyscrapers,  factories,  shops,  banks  and 
gambling  dens,  all  blotted  out  of  exist- 
ence almost  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye;  millionaires,  beggars,  dancers  and 


6i 


Gt.ife'^s  ^^ntbusiasms^ 

workers,  men  great  and  small,  foolish 
and  courageous,  with  their  women  and 
children  of  like  natures  with  them, 
fleeing  together  by  the  thousands  and 
hundreds  of  thousands  to  the  hills  and 
the  sand-dunes,  where  on  the  grass  and 
the  shifting  sands  they  all  slept  togeth- 
er or  were  awake  together  in  the  old 
primal  equality  of  life.  Never  since  man 
began  to  plan  and  to  create  has  there 
been  such  a  destruction  of  the  results 
of  human  effort.  Never  has  a  great 
calamity  been  met  with  so  little  repin- 
ing. Never  before  has  the  common 
man  shown  himself  so  hopeful,  so 
courageous,  so  sure  of  himself  and  his 
future.  For  it  is  the  man,  after  all,  that 


62 


survives  and  it  is  the  will  of  man  that 
shapes  the  fates. 

It  is  the  lesson  of  earthquake  and  fire 
that  man  cannot  be  shaken  and  cannot 
be  burned.  The  houses  he  builds  are 
houses  of  cards,  but  he  stands  outside 
of  them  and  can  build  again.  It  is  a 
wonderful  thing  to  build  a  great  city. 
Men  can  do  this  in  a  quarter  century, 
working  together  each  at  his  own  part. 
More  wonderful  still  is  it  to  be  a  city, 
for  a  city  is  composed  of  men,  and  now, 
ever  and  forever  the  man  must  rise 
above  his  own  creations.  That  which 
is  in  the  man  is  greater  than  all  that 
he  can  do. 


63 


Ct.ife'^s  ^TEnthusidsms^ 

**  Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me. 
Black  as  the  pit  frorn  pole  to  pole, 
I  thank  whatever  gods  ?nay  be 
For  my  unconquerable  soul. 

In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 
I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud 
Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance. 
My  head  is  bloody  but  not  bowed. 

Beyond  this  place  of  wrath  and  tears 
Looms  but  the  Horror  of  the  shade. 
And  yet  the  menace  of  the  years 
Finds  and  shall  find  me  unafraid. 

It  matters  not  how  straight  the  gate. 
How  charged  with  punishments  the  scroll, 
I  am  the  master  of  7ny  fate, 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul!" 


64 


UNIVERSIT\'  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


rorm  L9-40m-7.'56  (079064)444 


THE  LlBKAKl 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNU 
I.OS  AJSGBLES 


BJ 


Jordan  - 


159^     Life's  enthusiasms 
J76  1 


UC SOUTHERN 


REGIO^JALLIRHAR'''rAC|LITY 


AA  000  503  438  4 


BJ 

159^ 
J76  1 


SMITH  BROS. 

Books,  Kodaks 

Statlonanr,  Pictartt 

3th. St..  Oakland.  Cal. 


